


Aerosol Hearts

by yubat (mintea)



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Street Artists, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintea/pseuds/yubat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minseok understands that his work is, on a fundamental basis, impermanent. But these kids have been walking a dangerous line, and are getting awfully close to stepping over to the wrong side of it. (street artists!au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aerosol Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I was doing some housekeeping and decided to finally move this over to AO3. This work was originally posted [here](http://minseokful.livejournal.com/8987.html), for minseokful exchange 2014.

Minseok slides into his Theory of Computing lecture five minutes late and tries to sneak into his seat as stealthily as possible. He’s setting up his laptop when a faint but unmistakable high-pitched “Katalk!” emanates from his back pocket. The professor turns to fix him with an icy stare, and Minseok ducks his head and mumbles apologies as he fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket and turn his message notifications to silent.

Minseok steadfastly ignores his phone for almost ten minutes, despite the way the screen continually lights up with notifications. They’re all from Lu Han, Minseok can tell that much from the on-screen previews, and they’re all obnoxious emoticons. He shoves the phone to the corner of his desk and tries to concentrate on the notes he’s taking on his laptop.

Eventually Lu Han switches from emoticons to just sending “ _minseok_ ,” “ _minseok_ ,” “ _minseok_ ” over and over. When Lu Han switches to Chinese, Minseok finally gives in and grabs his phone.

“ _what?_ ” he sends, and is immediately greeted with a tearfully overjoyed emoticon with a flower in its hair as a reply. Minseok rolls his eyes and quickly types out another message.

“ _you’re at work now right? shouldn’t you be helping customers?_ ”

He expects Lu Han to say something about being bored of categorizing rows of comic books, but instead he gets a message saying, “ _the kids are at it again_.”

Seconds later Lu Han sends a picture. It’s the wall that runs along the side of the comic book store Lu Han works at – Minseok immediately recognizes it because of the giant mural that completely covers it from one end to the other. It was the first piece Minseok had ever been commissioned to do, two years before. It’s primarily black and white, designed to look like a _manhwa_ page, with the hero and heroine bursting out of the lines in full-colored glory in the middle. Now, as evidenced by Lu Han’s picture, it also features a large garish tag in red spray paint in the upper left corner.

“ _cute_ ,” Minseok replies, faking calm. He knows that he’s not fooling anyone, though, most certainly not Lu Han. Lu Han had been the one who had originally recommended Minseok to his boss for the piece, and he knows just how proud of it Minseok still is.

Minseok enlarges the picture to get a closer look at the tag. There’s no mistaking it, it’s the same tag that has been popping up lately near old works by Minseok and his crew. Judging by the tags, they are being thrown up by a new crew going by the name Young Blood – no points for creativity in Minseok’s books – that is apparently trying to prove some point about “out with the old and in with the new.” At first they had only tagged near older artists’ works, but lately they’ve been getting bolder. Minseok supposes he should feel lucky that they only slashed his work. Just a few days before someone had completely gone over one of Chanyeol’s pieces with a roller brush and only left a tag in its place.

Lu Han apparently knows exactly what Minseok’s thinking, because he sends a message saying, “ _at least it’s small._ ”

“ _your dick is small,_ ” Minseok absentmindedly types back. In his head he’s running through a list of everyone he knows who might have any information on this crew. Up until now Minseok hadn’t been too bothered – he’s a street artist, he understands that his work is, on a fundamental basis, impermanent. But these kids have been walking a dangerous line, and are getting awfully close to stepping over to the wrong side of it.

“ _that’s not what your ex said,_ ” Lu Han replies, and Minseok has to resist the urge to snort and draw his professor’s ire once more.

“ _you don’t know any of my exes,_ ” Minseok sends back. He pauses for a moment, considering, before typing out another message. “ _nice try tho. btw do you know if yixing is working tonight?_ ”

––

StarStar Coffee is tucked down an alleyway, partly hidden behind a sushi restaurant. If not for its famous hand drip coffee and the almost daily indie performances and open mic nights it would probably have faded into obscurity long ago. The Hongdae area of Seoul, where StarStar is located, has enough attractions that it’s all too easy for a small coffee shop to get lost in the larger wave of bars, music, art, and shopping.

As it is, when Minseok arrives at a little past eight in the evening the coffee shop is still bustling. There’s a duo playing on the small stage, a girl singing with a guy accompanying her on guitar, and almost all of the tables are full. There are three baristas behind the counter who seem busy making drinks and cleaning, but one of them pulls away as soon as he notices Minseok coming through the door. Yixing looks every inch the indie coffee shop manager he is, in his plaid button up shirt with rolled up sleeves and black thick-framed glasses. He motions with his head towards an empty table in the corner farthest from the stage before disappearing into the back room.

Minseok heads over to the table and is just pulling out a chair to sit down when Yixing reemerges from the back apron-less and with a tupperware container in one hand. Yixing sits down in the chair across from Minseok and offers a smile.

“Hey, stranger,” Yixing says as he pops the lid off of his tupperware. He has some sort of noodles, and Minseok can’t help but eye them enviously. The convenience store _gimbap_ he’d grabbed before his evening class had been less than stellar. “It’s been a while.”

Minseok guiltily glances up from the noodles to Yixing’s face. Yixing’s right, it _has_ been a while. Back in freshman year the three of them, Minseok, Lu Han, and Yixing, had been almost inseparable. But three and a half years later everything is more complicated, and it seems like no one ever has time. Minseok hasn’t seen Yixing in more than a month, and now he’s here because he needs information, not even with the primary purpose of visiting his friend.

Yixing must pick up on Minseok’s mood, because he suddenly leans over and uses his chopsticks to shove some of the noodles into Minseok’s mouth. Minseok laughs and accepts the food. “Yeah, sorry about that,” Minseok manages to say around his mouthful of noodles. “And sorry for being late. My professor wouldn’t stop talking.”

Yixing waves him off as he takes his own bite of dinner. “It’s fine, we had a rush just before you came anyway.” Yixing swallows and leans forward until his elbows are resting on the table. “So what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Minseok considers his words for a second before saying, “I was wondering if you could get me in touch with someone. Or, preferably, several someones.”

Yixing _hmms_ as he stabs his chopsticks absentmindedly into his noodles. “This doesn’t happen to be about that new crew going around tagging over everyone’s stuff, does it?” Yixing’s hands still and he looks up Minseok with one eyebrow raised slightly.

Minseok blinks at Yixing in surprise for a moment before laughing and shaking his head incredulously. “Someone else already asked you about it, didn’t they?”

“Hyoyeon noona and Chanyeol were in earlier this week,” Yixing says calmly. He takes another bite of his noodles. “They seemed about ready to find these kids and set them on fire.”

That must have been right after the crew went over Chanyeol’s piece. Minseok winces. Chanyeol’s rage had been palpable enough even over their Kakao Talk group chat, and with Hyoyeon in on it too Minseok is sure that fire would have been the least of Young Blood’s worries.

“But unfortunately,” Yixing continues, “I’m going to have to tell you the same thing I told them. These kids are new enough that I don’t know anything about them.” Yixing’s face is carefully vague as he says this. To most people it would probably seem as if he’s on the verge of spacing out – not too surprising, since Yixing himself willingly says that spacing out is his specialty. Minseok, however, has known Yixing too long to be fooled.

“You must know someone who does know about them, though,” Minseok says. Yixing is still carefully not meeting Minseok’s gaze, and Minseok knows he’s got him. “And you know _me_. I’m not going to go burning things down.”

Yixing is quiet for almost a minute, considering, and Minseok waits patiently. He knows that if he tries to rush things he’ll be leaving with no information at all. At last Yixing says, “Do you remember earlier this year when Lu Han dragged us along to that birthday party in Itaewon? At that Mexican restaurant.”

Minseok nods, although more than the restaurant itself he remembers the ridiculous amount of tequila he had consumed.

“There was a kid there named Zitao who hung out with us for most of the night. He’s a good kid, he likes to hang out here to do his homework.” Yixing trails off, staring at some point over Minseok’s shoulder. Minseok is sure that Yixing is trying to decide exactly how much to say. “Anyway, lately he has a job at some clothing boutique over by the elementary school.” Yixing rests his elbows on the table and leans forward. He meets Minseok’s gaze now, and holds it. “I don’t know anything about the crew tagging your stuff, but he might.”

––

It turns out that Zitao knows quite a bit about Young Blood, but not very much that he’s willing to share.

Zitao plays with his phone while he talks to Minseok, popping it in and out of the giant panda-shaped case he has it in. “My friend’s a member of the crew,” he says and frowns at his phone like it’s personally committed some kind of crime against him. “But I’m not sure how much I want to tell you, even if you’re friends with Lu Han hyung and Yixing hyung. Actually, particularly because you’re friends with Lu Han hyung.”

Eventually he caves, though, giving Minseok a place and time that his friend will supposedly be hitting a piece. “I overheard Sehun mentioning it. Lately that stupid crew is all he talks about,” Zitao says by way of explanation. “The crew and Soojung. I’m so sick of it.”

This is how Minseok finds himself in the alley behind a barbeque restaurant at 2 a.m. on a Monday. He tries not to think about his 9 a.m. class the next day as he weaves his way through dumpsters and overflowing garbage bags. He had recognized what piece Zitao was talking about as soon as Zitao started describing it. Minseok and Jongdae had done it together as a quick joke – a pair of optical illusion angel wings with space between them that people can take pictures posing in front of, but placed in a back alley and up too high for people to actually be able to take pictures with them. It’s nothing like either of their usual styles; they had done it as a self-proclaimed tribute to Junmyeon after he fell while trying to paint a high up “heaven” spot and broke his arm. The wings were never meant to be more than a private joke, but some blogger had featured a picture of the piece in one of their posts, and somehow the piece had gained a bit of fame.

Zitao said that his friend Sehun, supposedly a member of Young Blood, was planning to not just diss the piece with a tag, but to completely roller over it and just leave a tag in its place, like had been done to Chanyeol’s piece. If nothing else, Minseok has to admire their guts. Young Blood have declared war, and now they’re going all out. However, any admiration he has for them ends there. Bravado doesn’t make up for the sheer stupidity of trying to make their mark on the scene by tagging over established artists’ work like puppies trying to mark their territory by peeing on everything. Minseok doubts that they even fully realize what they’re getting themselves into, or exactly how many people are soon going to be out for their precious “young” blood.

At last Minseok turns down the alley the piece is in, and finds more or less exactly what he had expected. There’s just enough light seeping in from the street that he can clearly see two guys: one standing in front of the piece with a roller in his hands and paint at his feet, and the other leaning against the opposite wall and staring at his phone. They both look up when Minseok turns the corner, but only the guy against the wall seems surprised. The guy holding the roller merely looks bored as he blatantly stares Minseok down. His hair looks vaguely like a rainbow puked all over it – Minseok assumes that he’s Sehun, then, since Zitao had only described his friend by saying that Sehun is impossible to miss.

“What do you want?” Sehun asks, without any honorifics to speak of. Minseok snorts.

“What has become of kids these days,” Minseok wonders aloud. “Do they not teach them manners anymore?” He shakes his head with exaggerated sadness before meeting Sehun’s gaze and holding it steady. “What I _want_ is for you to stop marking over my work.”

Sehun narrows his eyes slightly. “Who are you?” he asks, still impolite.

“Xiumin,” Minseok replies simply, gesturing to his signature in the bottom corner of the piece. The Chinese characters of his tag look almost plain next to the English letters spelling out CHEN in barely legible graffiti print.

This finally elicits an emotion from Sehun, whose eyes widen in surprise. The guy leaning against the wall had gone back to his phone fairly quickly after Minseok arrived, but now he looks up again. He looks surprised too, as well as something else that Minseok can’t quite read. Minseok wonders who they had expected him to be, if not Xiumin. Chen? They’d better be glad he _wasn’t_ Chen. Jongdae would more than happy to join Hyoyeon and Chanyeol’s crusade of fire.

Sehun quickly schools his face back to impassiveness, as if he hadn’t been affected at all. “So you’re the sell out,” Sehun says. The words ‘sell out’ are full of disdain, as if they leave a bad taste in Sehun’s mouth.

It does hurt a bit, even though Minseok refuses to show it, mostly because it’s true. Minseok rarely ever does illegal work now that he can actually get people to pay him to doodle on their walls rather than sneaking around in the middle of the night. But Sehun’s far from the first person to throw this at him, and Minseok already went through this back when he first started taking commissions. Sehun’s late to the game.

“Is that what this is about?” Minseok asks. He keeps his voice light, even as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Teaching the sell out a lesson? Because if it is, I can tell you right now that you’re wasting your time.”

Sehun hunches his shoulders slightly, and he looks so much like a sulky teenager that Minseok wants to laugh. Then Minseok remembers that Sehun very well _could_ still be a teenager, and suddenly it doesn’t seem quite so funny.

“It’s not just you,” Sehun says sullenly. “It’s your entire crew, and all of the older artists. You’re all irrelevant now, so we’re just doing everyone a favor and opening up space for new art.”

Minseok had figured that was Young Blood’s mission, but hearing it spoken just makes it seem even more ridiculous. Turnover is natural; it happens even without new crews going out and dissing older artists. Minseok wonders if Sehun truly believes what he’s saying, or if he, like Minseok, realizes that his reasoning is just a weak disguise for a blatant attempt to stir up drama.

“Look kid, there are better ways to build your rep than dissing established artists,” Minseok says. He rocks back on his heels and nods at the angel wings for emphasis. Sehun had only gotten one coat down before Minseok arrived, and the design is still visible through the damp white paint covering it. “All you’re going to do is start trouble for yourself.”

“Thanks, _kid_ ,” Sehun replies. He pointedly looks Minseok up and down as he says it, while simultaneously pulling himself up to his full height, which is considerably taller than Minseok. “But I can look after myself.”

Minseok grins. “I may be small,” he says amiably, “but I could eat you alive. So I suggest that you take what I’ve said into consideration and watch yourself.”

Minseok figures there isn’t much more for him to say and he turns to leave, only to stop when Sehun calls out after him. “Aren’t you going to call the cops?” Sehun sounds petulant, almost as if he _wants_ Minseok to call the cops. Minseok laughs incredulously as he turns back with his eyebrows raised.

“And what exactly would that do?” Minseok asks. “If you had any sense you’d be long gone before they even got here. Besides, they have better things to do than chase down some taggers in Hongdae. Trust me, cops will be the least of your worries if you keep this up.”

Minseok turns to leave again, but this time he locks gazes with the guy leaning back against the wall. Compared to Sehun’s garish hair and stylish clothes, this guy seems almost bland. He has a snapback hat jammed down backwards over dark hair, and he’s wearing an oversized hoodie and jeans. Minseok wonders if he’s another member of the crew, or if he’s just a friend of Sehun’s who got dragged along for the ride. The guy leans forward, almost as if he wants to say something, then glances over to Sehun and ends up just biting his lip uncertainly instead. Minseok shrugs mentally and walks away. He has more important things to do than worry about what some kid who probably thinks he’s a washed up sell out might want to say to him.

––

After that night, it seems like Sehun is everywhere. Minseok, like countless other people, spends a good deal of his time in the combined Sinchon and Hongdae area. He lives there, his school is near there, his friends work there, and the restaurants and bars are good. The area is are almost always crowded by nature, but despite this it seems that everywhere Minseok turns Sehun’s rainbow head is there. Sometimes Sehun is by himself, but sometimes he’s with friends. He even turns up at StarStar – Minseok spots him when he stops by to chat with Yixing.

Minseok isn’t sure if he’s suddenly just hyperaware and Sehun’s always been there, or if the universe is conspiring to make things awkward. He and Sehun don’t speak again, but every time their eyes meet a miniature staredown ensues. It’s a battle of wills with both parties determined to win, and Minseok always finds himself irritable afterwards. He had known from the beginning that talking to the new crew probably wouldn’t change anything, but it’s still frustrating to constantly find himself face to face with a kid who’s determined to destroy his work.

And the confrontation _hadn’t_ changed anything, that’s the worst part. If anything the dissing gets worse, to the point that Amber threatens flying back from the States to kick some ass and even Yuri reemerges in the crew group chat to ask what’s going on. Minseok knows that other crews and even individual artists are being targeted, too; even if he hadn’t heard about it through his friends he can clearly see it every time he walks through Hongdae. Young Blood’s tags are everywhere, located in practically every alleyway and easy to spot for anyone who’s looking for them. Everyone in the graffiti scene is on edge. Even Minseok, who is famous among his friends for being easygoing, has to acknowledge that he’s let Young Blood get under his skin.

For all that he sees Sehun, though, Minseok never sees the other guy from the alley. In fact, Minseok is in his school’s main library when he spots Sehun’s friend for the first time since that night. Minseok spends a substantial amount of time in the library. One of his classes for the semester is essentially just one big project, and sometimes Minseok feels like it’s eating him alive. He’d met with some classmates earlier, but they had left hours previously and Minseok is studying alone with his computer and notes when he spots the guy. His head is spinning with lines of computer code, and when he looks up and sees Sehun’s friend at first he doesn’t recognize him. Then, once it clicks, he thinks he might be hallucinating.

Minseok blinks, and when his eyes open again the guy is still there, only now he’s staring back at Minseok like a deer caught in the headlights. If it had been Sehun, Minseok probably would have attempted to keep up a proud front, but it’s not Sehun and Minseok hasn’t had nearly enough coffee today to deal with this so he just groans and rests his head in his hands. “I can’t escape them,” he mumbles into his palms.

When Minseok looks up again, the guy is staring down at his books and biting his lip again just like he'd done that night in the alley. The girl sitting next to the guy says something but he just shakes his head and refuses to take his eyes off his books. Minseok watches him carefully for almost a minute, but when it becomes obvious that the guy isn't going to try to start something he too goes back to his studying.

Minseok works like that for nearly another hour. Every now and then he glances over at Sehun’s friend – he dubs him ‘snapback guy’ because he's wearing another hat today, although he has abandoned the baggy sweatshirt – and sometimes the guy is looking at him. Each time this happens snapback guy quickly turns his eyes back down at his work, as if he's embarrassed. It's strange after all the staring matches with Sehun, but Minseok doesn’t have the energy to dwell on it.

After a while Minseok’s bladder starts staging painful protests and he reluctantly gets up to go to the bathroom. He shoves his laptop into his backpack and takes it with him, because he's afraid that if he doesn't he might come back to find a Young Blood tag scrawled across it in sharpie, but leaves his textbook and notes to save his place.

When he comes back his things are all still there and tag-free. However, there is a canned coffee, probably from the vending machine by the entrance to the library study room, and a note sitting next to his textbook. Curious, Minseok picks the note up and looks it over. All it says is "Sorry" in neat writing. Minseok contemplates it for a second before looking over to where snapback guy had been sitting. He and his friend are gone.

Minseok sits down slowly and puts down the note so that he can pick up the coffee and turn it over in his hands. The can is still cold from the vending machine. Minseok glances once more at where the guy had been sitting as he pops the can open. Huh.

––

For Minseok, starting work on a commission piece is always exciting. It's heady enough when people appreciate his art, much less like it enough to want to pay him for it. Every time he receives money from a satisfied client he feels slightly bewildered. He can still clearly remember the day his mother told him she had cancelled his art classes because they were a waste of time. At first Minseok’s love for drawing had been cute, something his parents could brag about to their friends, but when he was in middle school and putting more effort into his art lessons than his supplementary math and English tutoring his parents were no longer amused.

At the time Minseok had entertained thoughts of eventually becoming a famous _manwha_ artist, and in response to the loss of art lessons had retreated into his room and spent months drawing pages of comics in secret. Eventually, of course, his mom found him out and threw all of Minseok’s work into the trash. That was the first time Minseok truly fought with his parents, a screaming match that lasted nearly an hour and ended with his father throwing all of Minseok’s art supplies into the trash can with his comic pages. Somehow after that Minseok had found himself stopping by the store on his way home from school, taking a can of spray paint down from the shelf and quietly slipping it into his backpack when no one was looking.

The solid gates of the abandoned construction site behind his school became Minseok's first canvas. He covered them in shaky lines and failed attempts to copy the pictures of graffiti writing he found online. When he ran out of space, layers and layers of paint now coating the construction company’s logos, he moved on to other isolated places. His collection of paints, carefully lifted from stores all across town, slowly grew, and he kept them in a gym bag that he stored in the bottom of his closet under a pile of clothes that even his mother never bothered picking up.

It’s weird now, to Minseok, to think about his life in middle and high school, all the nights he spent sneaking out and all the mornings he spent dozing off in class. And now here he is, standing in front of a blank wall that someone is _paying_ him to paint. Minseok feels almost giddy as he stares at the expanse of cement. This commission is for a cafe in Hapjeong, a new place owned by an enthusiastic middle-aged man who contacted Minseok after seeing one of his other pieces. He commissioned Minseok for a full-wall mural, and after finishing the planning and getting approval from the owner Minseok is ready to get started.

When he works on group pieces with his friends, particularly when they're just doing a quick throwup, Minseok usually works on coloring. But when Minseok is doing his own work and has time he likes to focus on doing intricate line work. He could even brag that his lines are what he's known for. Minseok likes to create black and white designs that twist and turn into themselves and then burst into color in select areas. The wall by Lu Han's work, where Minseok had shamelessly embraced his seventh grade _manwha_ artist dreams, is probably his most popular example of this style.

For this piece Minseok is planning to draw two girls sitting and sipping coffee with their hair flowing out behind them, the locks shifting into ocean waves complete with sea creatures in their own version of a coffee shop. The owner, who is from Busan and had asked Minseok for a design that featured the ocean – to help with his homesickness, he said – was delighted by the sketches Minseok showed him.

Minseok surveys the wall for a moment longer, idly shaking a can of paint in one hand. In his mind he can already see the design stretching out across the surface, and he grins. Time to get to work.

––

The next time Minseok spots snapback guy is back in the library again. Minseok is tucked away in a corner with his laptop and the annoyingly large textbook for his theory class when he sees the guy. This time snapback guy doesn’t notice Minseok – he’s staring at his laptop screen with his eyebrows drawn in concentration as his hand flies across the drawing tablet lying next to his computer. Without really realizing it Minseok finds himself thinking of the coffee and the note next to it. Before he can change his mind he sets his laptop aside and stands up, then makes his way over to snapback guy’s table.

When Minseok slides into the chair across from him snapback guy looks up. His eyes widen in surprise and the hand holding his tablet pen jerks; Minseok is sure that he now has a mark across whatever he’s working on. Minseok puts on his best friendly smile and says, “Hey.”

“Um, hi?” the guy replies uncertainly with a bob of his head. He’s blushing, Minseok notices with amusement. The tips of his ears are red and there’s a slight flush spreading out across his cheeks. Cute.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Minseok says. The guy opens his mouth to protest or deny knowledge of what Minseok is talking about, and Minseok raises an eyebrow. The guy shuts his mouth and bites his lip instead. Must be a habit, Minseok decides. It’s kind of endearing, if Minseok is honest. “Are you a member of the crew?” Minseok asks, when it’s obvious that the guy isn’t sure what to say.

“Kind of,” the guy replies. He frowns and spins his tablet pen around in his fingers. Minseok doubts that he even knows he’s doing it. “I help out sometimes with bigger pieces. Se- um, my friend joined and he kind of dragged me along with him.”

“It’s okay, I already know Sehun’s name,” Minseok says. “Good catch, though.” The guy looks so horrified that Minseok can’t help but laugh. “I thought we already established that I’m not going to rat anyone out. I don’t like the police any more than anyone else. Besides, if I had wanted to then I would have already, so don’t worry.” Since the guy still seems a little uncertain of what to say, simply nodding in acknowledgment, Minseok leans his elbows on the table. “So if you’re in the crew, then why are you apologizing and buying coffee for a guy you guys are trying to slash?”

The guy is blushing again. “I’m a fan,” he mumbles, steadfastly avoiding Minseok’s eyes. “I really like Xiumi– um, your work. I was there that night because I was trying to convince Sehun to stop.” He pauses for a second and now Minseok is the one staring in surprise. “I was so angry when Sehun hit your piece by the comic store. I go to that store pretty often,” he looks embarrassed as he says this. Minseok wonders if Lu Han knows him, but decides that asking isn’t worth Lu Han sticking his nose into Minseok’s business. “That piece is one of my favorites. I couldn’t believe Sehun disrespected it like that.”

“Yes, well that seems to be your crew’s entire mission,” Minseok says wryly. The guy frowns again.

“It wasn’t like that at first. I mean, back when Sehun brought me in I thought it was pretty fun to be around a bunch of people who liked the same things I did.” The guy’s lips pull into a crooked half-smile. “But then one of the members decided that there should be a _message_ or something and they started the slashing and dissing. Since then it hasn’t really been fun anymore.” He finally looks up, hesitant.

Minseok nods slowly as he takes it all in. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, considering. “Thank you,” he finally settles on saying. “For liking my art, and for the coffee and apology. It means a lot, knowing that not every kid younger than me on the scene hates my guts.”

The guy has a shy smile now, which broadens when Minseok smiles back. “I honestly still can’t really believe that I’m talking to Xiumin right now,” he blurts out. He’s so earnest that Minseok can’t help but laugh again.

“Come on, it’s not like I’m famous or anything,” Minseok says. “And my name is Minseok, so you can call me that. Or hyung, if you’d rather. I am, as your friend so lovingly put it, a sell out, so I don’t do enough illegal work anymore to worry about the cops learning my name.”

“Minseok hyung,” the guy tries out. He hesitates before adding, “I’m Jongin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jongin,” Minseok says, and Jongin’s entire face brightens. Definitely cute.

––

The next time they meet, Jongin approaches Minseok first. Minseok is sitting in the coffee shop right next to the library, desperate for a change of scenery. It’s the time of day when most people are in class, so the cafe is pretty empty, but Jongin walks right past all the free tables to come up to Minseok’s table and shyly ask if he can sit there.

Jongin is a good study tablemate. He doesn’t spread his materials out over the entire table, and he’s quiet as he works away with his laptop and tablet. It reminds Minseok of freshman year, and the long hours he and Lu Han had spent studying together. Although those sessions had usually ended with Lu Han declaring he would die of boredom if he studied for one minute later and dragging Minseok out to have fun. Lu Han’s nights out had been how Minseok originally met Jongdae and Amber, who had eventually brought him into their crew. Another difference is that Lu Han had spent a considerably larger amount of time swearing at his computer when things weren’t going well.

They work in silence for almost half an hour before Minseok’s curiosity gets the better of him. “Can I see what you’re working on?” he asks, craning his body around towards Jongin’s side of the table.

“It’s not much yet,” Jongin says. His bottom lip is between his teeth again, and he worries it for a second before slowly turning his laptop towards Minseok. “It’s not, like, anything impressive.” On the screen is an open animation file with the storyboard thumbnails on display. Jongin reaches over to press play, and a ballerina leaps to life. She twirls and leaps her way across the screen before the animation ends and loops back to the beginning. It’s obviously still a preliminary work, just rough sketches on a white background, but somehow it feels like the ballerina might pirouette out of the screen and across the table.

“Wow,” Minseok breathes. “What are you talking about, this is amazing.”

“Not really,” Jongin objects uncomfortably. He presses a key and stops the ballerina in the middle of her endless dance. “This is just an assignment for class, and I’m still really amateur. Someday I want to go on to movies and stuff.” Jongin hunches over, almost protectively, as he turns his laptop back towards himself. It’s like he expects Minseok to make fun of him, and Minseok’s mom’s voice rings in his mind, _“What a waste of time.”_

“That’s so cool,” Minseok says with enthusiasm, and Jongin immediately starts to uncurl. “Animation movies are the best.”

Jongin is smiling now. “Yeah,” he says, “and I think that they’re really important, because they’re one of the types of movies that everyone can enjoy no matter their age, you know?” As he speaks Jongin seems to literally light up. He’s sitting up straight, holding eye contact with Minseok, all traces of his previous shyness quickly disappearing. “And they can also help teach important lessons, or like, be deeper than just cute characters running around.” From there Jongin launches into comparing the South Korean and international film markets, and talking about how he wants to work locally. Minseok finds himself listening attentively, even though he had never given particular thought to South Korea’s potential for animated films before. Jongin is practically glowing as he talks, and his enthusiasm is contagious.

They talk, their respective projects completely abandoned, until Jongin has to run to class. Even after Jongin leaves, Minseok is still smiling.

––

Jongin becomes an unexpected constant in Minseok’s life. Minseok’s not sure if Jongin is originally a dedicated student who spends a great deal of time in the library, or if he’s hanging out in the library more to see Minseok. Whichever it is, Minseok ends up seeing more of Jongin than any of his friends. He runs into Jongin almost every day, and after a straight week of this Minseok offhandedly asks Jongin to exchange phone numbers. Jongin immediately breaks into a grin that has Minseok smiling in return.

Jongin is apparently the type of person who likes to use nicknames for all his contacts. He has his own Kakao Talk display name preset as “Jonginnie,” and edits Minseok’s simple “Kim Minseok” so that it shows up as “Hyung-nim” on his phone. It’s pretty cute, and Minseok would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit flattered. They message each other every now and then, even though they’re seeing each other on practically a daily basis. More often than not Jongin is the one sending the first message – Minseok has a habit of forgetting about his phone whenever he’s not actively using it. Jongin’s messages always make Minseok smile, even when he feels ready to crumble under stress.

And really, stress has become another, much less pleasant, constant in Minseok’s life. His project deadline is quickly approaching, and with each passing day Minseok can feel the pressure mounting. Everything is a blur of classes, the library, and his one room apartment. He’s glad that the cafe owner had allowed him a long period of time to finish his commission piece, because he can barely squeeze in any time for it. Minseok turns working on the piece into his study breaks; he comes whenever he can fit it in, and lets the weight of aerosol cans in his hand and the methodical process of laying down layers of paint temporarily erase all thoughts of codes and project deadlines.

In the back of his mind there is also a niggling worry about Young Blood. Yixing had texted Minseok to say that he’d heard different store owners in the Hapjeong area complaining about Young Blood’s tags turning up on their walls. Normally this wouldn’t bother Minseok, but Yixing said that the tags were primarily in the area nearby the cafe Minseok’s working on. And, in his roundabout Yixing way, also suggested that he thought this might be because the cafe owner kept bragging to anyone who would listen about the piece he’s having done. Minseok’s piece.

Minseok tries not to think about it too much, which is honestly not hard to do. He tucks his concerns away in the back of his mind and lets them get swept up in the midst of his other worries. He doesn’t even have time to think about life beyond school, much less some punks running around with spray paint.

In fact, the person who seems concerned with Minseok’s lack of social life isn’t Minseok but Lu Han. Aside from Jongin, almost all of the texts Minseok receives are from Lu Han. Lu Han whines about how long it’s been since he’s seen Minseok, and at one point even jokingly accuses Minseok of being in a secret relationship. That idea makes Minseok snort – the only relationship he’s having at the moment is marriage to his laptop and textbooks – but one morning he finally gives in and agrees to come hang out at the comic book shop. All he’d been doing was sitting at home and contemplating banging his head into his keyboard anyway, and Lu Han had promised that he would let Minseok sit behind the counter and read the newest volume of the action series Minseok has been following for years.

Minseok knows all the best shortcuts to get him to the comic book store in the least amount of time and through the largest amount of back alleys, discovered over years of trying to dodge crowds. There aren’t many people around today, not at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, but habit carries him down the back streets anyway. Rather than businesses or street names he tends to use pieces of street art as his landmarks. The alleys are overflowing with art, from the simplest paint-pen tags to full on mural pieces. Minseok makes his way past works he’s grown familiar with over the past three years of making this exact same trek, as well as taking time to stop every now and then to admire new pieces that catch his eye.

He’s in an alley only a few minutes away from the comic shop when he spots her. Minseok stops dead in his tracks, staring in a combination of astonishment and awe. Jongin’s ballerina dances from one end of the wall to the other, as if someone had frozen her animation frame by frame and then pasted the frames up on the cement. She leaps over and around the couple of other works on the same wall, landing lightly on a tiger’s head and springing off into a grand jeté to go skip across the top of some text. She’s made of stencils and black paint, not individual drawings, and as Minseok follows her path along the wall he wonders at Jongin’s patience. The wall is not short by any means, and it must have taken Jongin hours to make all the stencils. All the way at the end of the corridor Minseok finally finds the signature. The ballerina is dipping into a curtsey, and under her feet there’s a tag that says “KAI.”

Minseok stands and admires the wall for a little longer before pulling out his phone and snapping a photo. “ _kai, huh?_ ” he quickly texts to Jongin, accompanied with a copy of the picture. Before Jongin can reply Minseok tucks his phone back into his pocket and quickly walks the rest of the way to the comic book store.

Lu Han greets Minseok enthusiastically, immediately handing him a copy of the book he had promised. Minseok plops himself down on one of the chairs behind the counter, and it almost feels like he’s back in second year, when he had practically lived in the comic shop during Lu Han’s shifts. Minseok settles down and starts reading his _manhwa_ , but he doesn’t manage to get very far with Lu Han’s interruptions. Lu Han alternates between whining about how slow work has been this morning and demanding updates on Minseok’s life. Minseok honestly doesn’t really mind. Lu Han is his best friend, and it _has_ been a long time since they last got to properly hang out. It’s nice to just spend time together like this, even if Minseok doesn’t get to read his book.

Minseok is in the middle of complaining about his theory of computing professor when his phone interrupts with a loud Kakao Talk notification. Minseok pauses to unlock his phone, and finds a message from Jongin.

“ _ah…_ ,” quickly followed by, “ _you saw it?_ ”

“ _yeah_ ,” Minseok replies. " _it looks really good. i like how you made your art interact with the other pieces. your style is great_ "

Minseok has seen some of Kai’s pieces before, before he even met Jongin. Kai first caught Minseok’s attention when a piece similar to the ballerina, but on a smaller scale and showcasing some kind of Latin dance, had popped up back in May near the _don katsu_ restaurant Lu Han likes. Minseok had been intrigued, and tried to keep an eye out for more of Kai’s work. He hadn’t been disappointed – once he started looking it wasn’t hard to find more. All of the works featured a similar style of stencils and animation frames, and primarily showed different types of dance with a few other subjects occasionally thrown in. Right from the start Minseok had felt a lot of admiration for the artist, and now that he knows it’s Jongin… well, he’s not quite sure _what_ he feels now.

“ _not really_ ,” Jongin sends back. “ _i just spend a lot of time cutting tiny shapes out of pieces of plastic._ ”

Minseok laughs, and when he glances up from his phone Lu Han is looking at him contemplatively. “Who are you talking to?” Lu Han asks. He tries to look over Minseok’s shoulder, but Minseok holds the phone away from him. “Is it your secret boyfriend who has been stealing all your time away from me?”

“No,” Minseok says, trying to type out a reply to Jongin while still keeping his phone out of Lu Han’s reach. “ _dont sell urself short. ur stuff is srsly cool._ ”

“Girlfriend, then? Did you go changing your orientation without telling me?” Lu Han is pouting now. Minseok gives him an incredulous look.

“I already told you, I’m not seeing anyone other than my textbooks,” Minseok says. “It’s just a junior from school.”

“Really?” Lu Han may have been joking around before, but he’s curious for real now. Minseok can tell from his face, and resists the urge to sigh. A curious Lu Han will stop at nothing to find answers. “That means he’s my junior too, technically. Is he in your department?”

“No, he’s in animation,” Minseok says. He finally gives up and hands his phone over to Lu Han, who immediately breaks out into a victorious grin. The screen had gone into power-save mode while they argued, but Lu Han quickly unlocks both the phone’s main passcode _and_ Minseok’s Kakao passcode. Fucker.

“Hey, I know him,” Lu Han says as he pulls up the chat with Jongin and, from there, Jongin’s profile picture. “He comes in here all the time. He really likes that same series you do.” For a second Jongin’s voice echoes in Minseok’s head, _I go to that store pretty often_. Minseok had been right when he guessed that Lu Han would know him. “I’ve gotta say, he’s pretty cute. Should have guessed that dashing good looks would be your type.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” Minseok says blandly, completely ignoring Lu Han’s jibe. He grabs his phone back and gives Lu Han a warning look. “Please don’t do anything weird the next time he comes in.” Lu Han smiles brightly in reply, making Minseok’s stomach sink. One of Lu Han’s favorite pastimes is telling embarrassing stories about his friends. Usually Minseok just laughs it off and counters it with his own stories about Lu Han, but this is different. Jongin actually respects Minseok, and Minseok won’t be around to defend himself. Well, Minseok supposes, at least being respected had been nice while it lasted.

Just then a customer comes in, and Lu Han leaps into customer service mode. Left in peace, Minseok settles back onto his chair again and stares at Jongin’s enlarged profile picture for a second before closing out back into the chat. Jongin still hasn’t replied. Minseok types, “ _so does kai have some sort of profound meaning?_ ”

“ _just thought it sounded cool_ ,” Jongin sends back almost immediately. Minseok can imagine Jongin hunching over his phone, getting ready to pull back into his turtle shell.

“ _that’s ok,_ ” Minseok replies. “ _xiumin is just my name from chinese class. i had to get my friend to help me design my tag, cuz my characters usually look like a six year old wrote them._ ”

Jongin replies with a stream of chatspeak laughter, and Minseok is smiling when Lu Han slides back behind the counter. Lu Han gives him a _look_ , but doesn’t say anything, so Minseok ignores him and goes back to reading his book. It isn’t worth it to worry about whatever idea Lu Han has gotten into his head. Minseok is just going to enjoy the rest of his short break with his friend, and try not to think about the half finished programming waiting for him at home or whatever feeling it is that rises in his chest when he thinks about Jongin’s ballerina.

\--

Minseok’s phone buzzes insistently over on his desk. Minseok groans and contemplates ignoring it in favor of rolling back over, but the vibrations are echoing so loudly against the fake wood surface that Minseok gives up and hauls himself upright. Somehow he manages to stumble the few feet across his room from his bed to his desk with his eyes still mostly closed, and answers his phone without looking at the ID.

“Hello?” Minseok half asks, half yawns.

“I’m so sorry,” the voice on the other end says. Minseok pauses for a second before he manages to place who it is.

“Jongin?” Minseok asks. He pulls the phone away from his ear and squints at the tiny clock in the upper left corner. 6:07 a.m. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” Jongin repeats as if Minseok hadn’t said anything. He sounds anxious, almost out of breath. “Sehun made sure no one told me anything before they did it, I only just found out when I got to dance practice and Sehun was talking about it and–”

“What?” Minseok cuts in blearily. He feels like someone has replaced his brain with cotton candy. “Who did what?”

“It’s your new piece, the commission you’re working on for that coffee shop,” Jongin says slowly, like he’s forcing himself to annunciate instead of rushing. “Sehun and the crew–”

Someone might as well have dumped ice water over Minseok’s head. He’s suddenly completely awake, and his stomach feels like lead. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says with feeling and drops his phone back onto the desk without even hanging up. He manages to pull on clothes and get out the door in record time. At the bus stop he bounces in place, unable to stay still, and even on the bus he stands by the door instead of sitting despite the rows of vacant seats. 

Hapjeong, like the bus Minseok caught to get there, is almost empty at 6:30 a.m. on a Thursday morning. Only a few people are wandering around as Minseok jogs straight from the bus stop to the cafe. Once he reaches the cafe, though, he finds the side street that the wall he’s working on runs along already occupied. There’s an elderly man, presumably the owner of the restaurant across the way, stomping around and yelling into his cell phone. He’s saying something about _damn kids_ and _no respect_ and it’s not hard to see why. The wall of his restaurant, the one facing Minseok’s piece, now has its own painting of a girl puking out mess of sea creature skeletons. It’s not hard to see that it’s meant to be a response to Minseok’s work.

The new piece is large enough that multiple people probably worked to get it thrown up quickly, but even so there’s a pretty distinct cartoon style to it. It vaguely reminds Minseok of some unsigned works that have appeared over by the Hongdae children’s park in the past month or so. It all starts to click and Minseok resists the urge to laugh. Of course, it makes sense that Young Blood hasn’t been marking their work – if they did all their art would be swarmed by the other artists they’ve pissed off. Cowards.

The elderly man finally catches sight of Minseok, standing at the end of the street in his painting jeans – apparently the first ones he had managed to grab – and an oversized hoodie, and glares. “You!” the man shouts, gesturing at Minseok with his phone. “Did you do this?”

“No, sir,” Minseok says tiredly. He could point out that the culprits of something like this would never be stupid enough to be found at the scene, but he honestly doesn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, he gestures at his own piece. “There’s no reason for me to put a giant tag over my own art, is there?” Because, sure enough, right in the bottom corner of Minseok’s piece there’s a brand new tag in the design Minseok has become so familiar with. 

The man huffs and goes back to his phone. He keeps yelling about how _this isn’t Hongdae_ and _the police are going to get involved_ but Minseok isn’t really paying attention. He can’t pull his eyes away from the tag. Luckily it will be easy enough to cover up, but that doesn’t help calm the silent rage building momentum inside of him. Going over finished pieces is one thing. They’ve been around, they’ve served their time, it makes sense that they’ll be replaced. But this is something else entirely. This is a new piece, not even finished yet, not even close to Young Blood’s territory. 

Minseok has been tolerant, has left the conflict with Young Blood at nothing more than hollow warnings. He let them continue, despite quite possibly knowing more about them than any of the other artists who are angry at them. But he has his limits, and this? This has overshot them by a mile, without any chance of turning back.

Minseok doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he almost drops his phone while taking it out from his pocket. He has about a thirty messages from Jongin and two missed calls, but he ignores them and scrolls through his address book. It’s not even 6:30 in the morning yet, but he finds Junmyeon’s entry and presses call.

––

“No.”

Junmyeon’s office is small but still fancy. Minseok is pretty sure that any one piece of the decor is worth more than Minseok’s entire apartment. But that, Minseok supposes, comes along with being the son of the section head of an important international shipping company. It contrasts sharply with Minseok’s memories of freshman year, and all the times he, Junmyeon, and the rest of their friends spent in grimy alleys and hazy _samgyeopsal_ restaurants.

“I know that you quit,” Minseok says. “But seriously need your help.”

It’s 10 a.m. now, a slightly more reasonable meeting time according to Junmyeon. Minseok doesn’t mind too much. Coming to the office later had saved him the 40 minute subway ride to Junmyeon’s apartment in Jamwon with the morning commute crush. 

“I want to help you,” Junmyeon says slowly. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, and Minseok feels grungy in comparison, still in his paint-stained jeans. “But I can’t do that kind of stuff anymore. I can’t risk it.” 

Minseok narrows his eyes slightly. “This from the guy who used to live for risks.” Junmyeon winces slightly. Minseok knows that he’s hitting low, that Junmyeon had never wanted to change his lifestyle like this. But Minseok is still thrumming with rage, and he knows that to get back at Young Blood he needs Junmyeon’s help. He’ll do anything to get that help, even if it means rubbing salt into wounds that still haven’t healed. “I remember when you used to make a game out of seeing how many heaven spots you could paint before getting hurt. You would bet against the rest of the crew over how high you could reach to write a tag.” 

Junmyeon is hesitating. Minseok is watching him steadily, and gets a full view of the emotions fighting for control of Junmyeon’s face. Junmyeon is desperately trying to convince himself to do the “right thing” and walk away, Minseok can tell by the way his hands have curled into fists on his desk. He’s wavering, and Minseok pushes.

“You’re dating a guy who tags cop cars for fun,” Minseok says. He tilts his head to the side slightly, like he’s skeptical of Junmyeon’s Upright and Proper Citizen act. “I mean, come on.”

“Fuck,” Junmyeon says. His hand reflexively reaches for the cell phone sitting on the corner of his desk. “I _told_ Jongdae to stop doing that shit. I can’t–”

“I need your help,” Minseok cuts back in. He leans over the desk, elbows resting on the edge, and widens his eyes beseechingly. “You’re the best at identifying styles, and I need to figure out at least some of their pieces for sure. These kids have been fucking with everyone and they think they’re invincible and they need a lesson. Please.”

Junmyeon pauses, hand still extended towards his phone. He stares at Minseok, hard, for a second before slowly slumping back into his seat. Letting out a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and messes up the carefully gelled styling. Junmyeon is younger than Minseok, but for a second he seems much older. The responsibilities Junmyeon has taken onto himself, the accelerated business degree program, the impeccable grades, the job at his father’s company, have all worked to age him prematurely. 

Junmyeon closes his eyes, like he’s considering, and when he opens them he looks his normal age again. There’s a spark in his eye, too, one that Minseok recognizes from whenever Junmyeon would find a new heaven spot to paint. Minseok grins.

“I can probably get off work around five to do very important research for a project proposal,” Junmyeon says offhandedly, like he truly is discussing his work. “I’ll need more appropriate attire, though.”

“My last class finishes at four thirty.” Minseok is positively beaming now. “Drop by my apartment after you get off. I’ve got you covered.”

–– 

Hongdae is crowded in the evening, even on weekdays. People stream past Minseok as he stands and contemplates the piece in front of him. He’d been right, there were several pieces around the children’s park with a style similar to the one by the cafe. Going from the pictures Minseok had taken on his phone, Junmyeon identified three for certain as being by the same artists despite the lack of signatures, as well as found another he wasn’t positive about. Minseok wishes they had more to work with, and he suspects that if they did a more thorough search of the area they _could_ find more, but for now this will do. 

Junmyeon is over by one of the other pieces, decked out in a set of Minseok’s painting clothes, complete with a beanie and a mask. He’s no celebrity, but it could be problematic if pictures of him writing graffiti appeared online. Minseok, on the other hand, had opted out of anything that could obscure his identity. He doesn’t mind being seen; in fact, he hopes that one of the people walking past is a Young Blood member, so they can see the consequences of their actions firsthand. They played with fire, and now they’re finally going to get burned. 

“NO ONE CAN HIDE FOREVER,” Minseok writes, large enough to stretch from one end of the piece to the other. He keeps it simple, using neat handwriting instead of graffiti writing style. Somehow stylizing the text feels like acknowledgement of Young Blood as legitimate artists, and Minseok refuses to give them even that small amount of credit. Minseok finishes off with his own tag. Young Blood may be cowards who hide behind anonymity, but Minseok refuses to sink to that level. 

Minseok already left a message on another of the pieces Junmyeon identified, and Junmyeon is off taking care of the third piece. Knowing Junmyeon, he’s probably chosen a cautionary proverb, much like a teacher gently scolding their students. This is another reason Minseok had asked Junmyeon instead of one of the others – he could trust Junmyeon to keep his cool. Anyone else would have created absolute chaos. Minseok wouldn’t blame them, but thoughts of cleaning up the aftermath make his head throb preemptively. 

Minseok surveys his work for a second, taking in the way his black paint cuts across the vibrant colors. It’s satisfying to look at, in the same way that scratching a mosquito bite is satisfying. It feels good at the moment, but Minseok is more than aware that these actions will most likely just inflame the situation further. Now that Minseok has marked out some of Young Blood’s work, he’s certain that other artists will catch on and begin exacting their own revenge. 

Minseok caps his paint and leaves to find Junmyeon. Maybe Young Blood will retaliate, or maybe they will finally quit. There’s no way to tell, though, and Minseok isn’t going to waste his time worrying about it. What’s done is done, and all Minseok can do now is wait and see.

––

Jongin apologizes to Minseok about a million times. He seems to feel personally responsible for not being able to head the crew off before they slashed Minseok’s new piece. No matter how many times Minseok reassures him, Jongin remains convinced of his personal guilt. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into Sehun lately,” Jongin says over a bowl of soup. They had been studying together as usual, and when dinner approached Jongin had practically begged to buy something for Minseok. Usually Minseok would have turned him down, but Jongin had looked rather like a kicked puppy and in the end Minseok had given in and followed Jongin to a nearby Japanese restaurant. “He’s not usually this much of an asshole.”

Minseok shifts uncomfortably and pokes at his own pork cutlet rice bowl. “You don’t have to put him down for my sake,” Minseok says. He picks up a piece of meat, but stares at it instead of putting it in his mouth. “I mean, I appreciate that you’re sticking up for me, but you’ve been friends with Sehun for so long. I don’t want to cause any problems.” 

This is something that has been bothering Minseok ever since Jongin first approached him. During the time he’s spent with Jongin, Minseok has learned that Jongin and Sehun are close, if not best, friends, but that lately Jongin is constantly annoyed at Sehun. Specifically, Jongin is mad at Sehun for Minseok’s sake. Minseok feels at a loss. He enjoys hanging out with Jongin, and wants to get to know him better. But at the same time Minseok doesn’t want to pull Jongin closer to himself if it means pulling Jongin away from his friend. The absolute last thing Minseok wants is for Jongin to lose his friendship with Sehun because of Minseok.

“No, it’s not that,” Jongin says, frowning at his noodles. He brushes the words off so easily, like the thought had never even occurred to him, that Minseok can’t help but feel slightly relieved. “I mean, Sehun can be an ass at times, but he’s genuinely a good guy, you know? Lately, though, he’s just been really over the top.”

Minseok doesn’t know, actually, but he nods anyway. After all, the same thing could probably be said for a good number of Minseok’s own friends. Jongin is biting his lip again, lost in thought, and Minseok finds himself staring. When he realizes what he’s doing Minseok forces himself to look down at his food. 

“He’s not telling me anything now, and neither is anyone else,” Jongin says after a moment. It’s almost like he’s talking to himself, and his brow furrows further. “Everything seems so quiet at the moment. I’m not really sure what to think.”

That much Minseok can agree on. It’s been almost a week since he and Junmyeon slashed Young Blood’s works, and all of Young Blood’s tagging has stopped. Other artists did in fact catch onto what Minseok and Junmyeon had done, and the original pieces by Young Blood, along with Minseok and Junmyeon’s writing, were almost immediately lost under a slew of others’ backlash. Several other pieces in similar styles to the original works – some of them almost certainly other artists’ innocent work that got caught in the crossfire – also received the same treatment. 

Young Blood themselves, however, have stayed completely silent.

Jongin sighs. “I really hope they’re not planning anything stupid.”

Minseok’s mind flashes back to the tag he just finished fixing on his commission piece. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Me too.”

––

Later that night Minseok finishes submitting an online homework assignment and then hauls himself out to Hapjeong with his bag of paints in tow. Minseok generally prefers to paint during the day when he’s working on commissions. He doesn’t need the cover of night to hide, and the daytime light is infinitely better than street lamps and flashlights. Unfortunately, school has been eating up his time during the day, and even though the cafe owner has been understanding of Minseok’s schedule, Minseok does still have a deadline for the end of the month. 

It’s well after 11 p.m. when Minseok arrives, and even though the area isn’t completely deserted it’s much quieter than during the day. As he walks Minseok passes some couples, and a group of girls in matching university letterman jackets. There’s a sort of calm that takes over after the sun goes down and Minseok revels in it, taking his time to get to the cafe. 

Minseok is almost to his destination when he hears raised voices and spots a familiar head of multi-colored hair. As he cautiously edges closer Minseok realizes that Sehun is facing off against two police officers, with an open duffel bag full of aerosol paints on the ground between them. 

Sehun is arguing loudly with the unimpressed officers, and for a second Minseok feels a giddy surge of joy. After all the trouble Sehun has caused for Minseok, it’s satisfying to see Sehun in a spot of trouble himself. Minseok hangs back in the shadows, surveying the scene, and considers detouring around them and leaving Sehun to his fate. But then Jongin’s worried face flashes across his thoughts, and Minseok’s feelings of gratified retribution completely evaporate. 

Minseok sighs and hikes his bag higher on his shoulder before jogging the rest of the way over to Sehun and the police officers. “Sehun!” he calls out as he approaches, and both Sehun and the officers turn to stare at him. When Sehun catches sight of Minseok he looks like his eyes might pop out of his head, and Minseok would probably laugh under different circumstances. As it is, he just claps Sehun on the shoulder when he reaches him and says, “Hey, sorry I’m late. What’s going on here?”

Instead of answering, Sehun stares dumbly at Minseok. Minseok tightens his grip, _just play along with it_. Before Sehun can recoup, one of the policemen answers for him. “We found this kid skulking around suspiciously and asked him what he was up to,” the officer says. He’s eyeing Minseok and the backpack on his shoulder distrustfully. “We’ve had some complaints lately about graffiti from businesses in the area” –Minseok remembers the elderly man stamping around in the street and tries not to laugh– “so we were asked to step up patrols in this area.” The other police officer mutters something that sounds like, “waste of time,” but the first officer ignores him.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Sehun mumbles, hunching his shoulders. Everyone glares at him, and he slumps down further. 

Both officers turn their attention back to Minseok, and Minseok puts on his best winning smile. “Thank you for your hard work,” Minseok tells the police officers with as much sincerity as he can manage. “Those punks who’ve been going around vandalizing are making things hard for people like us, too.” Minseok slings an arm around Sehun’s shoulder. It’s a little awkward with the height difference, but Sehun seems to finally have gotten the memo and bends slightly to make it seem more natural. “My name is Kim Minseok,” Minseok says, still smiling. “I’m working on a commissioned mural for a cafe just down the street.”

The talkative officer looks at Minseok and raises an eyebrow. “In the middle of the night?”

“I’m a university student finishing up an honors computer programming degree.” Minseok’s smile is as bright as ever, but his voice is now ice. “I don’t even have time to sleep, much less pick and choose when I want to work on this painting. I come whenever I can, which right now happens to be in the middle of the night.” He nudges Sehun lightly with his hip and squeezes the shoulder his hand is still resting on again. “That’s why I asked Sehun here to help me out a bit. My deadline is coming up soon, and I’m running behind. I got held up by some school work, though, so he got here first.” 

The officers still look unconvinced, so Minseok pulls out his phone. “The cafe closed at eleven, but if you want I can call the owner right now to confirm for you.” Minseok holds his phone out, locking eyes with the talkative officer. They stay like that for a moment, facing off, and Minseok is proud of the way his hand barely even shakes. 

“Come on,” the officer who has barely spoken finally pipes up once everyone goes stiff with tension. “Just leave them. We’re all just wasting our time because some geezer got his panties in a twist, anyway.” He turns and begins walking away, leaving his partner behind. The other officer hesitates, glancing from Minseok and Sehun’s faces to the open gym bag of paints, before giving in and bowing stiffly. If this were a movie there would be some witty parting remarks, but Minseok just bows back, forcing Sehun to bow as well, and then Minseok and Sehun are alone in the street.

Minseok slowly lets out the breath he’d been holding, then takes off his hat so that he can run a hand through his hair. Now that the officers are gone all the nerves Minseok had been suppressing come rushing in at once. Minseok’s hands shake as he puts his hat back on. He knows that he should probably say something to Sehun, but that’s just about the last thing he wants to do at the moment, so he sets off walking again without speaking.

“Hey, wait!” Sehun calls. He scrambles to pick up his bag and then follows Minseok. “What the hell was that?” Sehun hisses as he and Minseok round the last corner into the street where Minseok’s painting is. 

“Exactly what it looked like,” Minseok says as he carefully sets his own bag down. He’s still jittery, but he can feel tension quickly subsiding now that he’s away from the scene. In its place is a new wave of anger at Sehun and his goddamn attitude. “Me saving your sorry ass.”

“But you hate me,” Sehun says. He’s standing at the end of the street with his arms crossed, standoffish as ever. Minseok squats down next to his bag, inhales, counts to five, and then breathes out.

“I do,” Minseok replies as he opens the zipper. “And I would have happily left you to deal with whatever fine or community service they gave you. But...” He finds the first can of paint he’ll need and sets it down on the sidewalk before continuing, “Jongin says you’re a good person. So although I personally think you’re an annoying cowardly asshole, I’m going to trust his judgment this time.”

“Jongin?” Sehun asks, and even though Minseok is still looking through his bag he can hear the uncertainty in Sehun’s voice. Sehun pauses for a moment, like he’s turning the information around in his head, and when he speaks again he sounds almost perplexed. “So you’re going to let me off, just like that? Do you even know what I was going to–”

“I don’t _want_ to know what you were going to do,” Minseok snaps. He grabs his mask out of his bag – even though he’s outside he always prefers to wear a mask for longer, more detailed projects – and stands up with his mask in one hand and a can of paint in the other. He feels like he’s trapped in some mockery of a reenactment of his first meeting with Sehun. The circumstances are different, but Minseok can’t shake a sense of déjà vu. Minseok turns and meets Sehun’s gaze head on, holding it. “What I _want_ is for you to get the fuck out of here. I wasn’t lying, I really do have a deadline, and thanks to some punk ass kids who decided to come fuck my shit up I truly am behind schedule.”

Sehun visibly hesitates, almost as if he’s taken aback. Minseok watches as Sehun pulls himself back together and puts back on his look of affected disinterest. At last Sehun says, “I’m not going to say thank you.”

“That’s fine,” Minseok grinds out. “I don’t want you to. But if, instead, you could stop scribbling all over everyone else’s work and just focus on your own business that would be fucking great.”

Sehun opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, then changes his mind and turns on his heel. After he’s gone Minseok closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Minseok really wants to punch something, but he holds it in and tries to calm himself down as he exhales. He’s only marginally successful. Minseok can still feel anger pulsing through him as he puts on his mask and then shakes the can in his hand. Usually working on art would help. This time, though, he gets swept up in a fresh wave of annoyance every time he glances over to where he’d had to patch up the tag. 

Minseok tries not to think about what Sehun had been planning to do, and what may have happened if Minseok hadn’t come to work on the piece on this day, at this particular time. He hadn’t been lying when he told Sehun he didn’t want to know. Minseok has already got stress pressing down on him from every angle, and he’s tired of having Sehun and his crew adding to that. And while Minseok may be willing to bail Jongin’s obnoxious friend out of a sticky situation, Minseok is not sure that he’s even emotionally capable of dealing with the knowledge of whatever it was Sehun had planned. It’s self preservation that keeps him from questioning, and he honestly hopes that Sehun’s foiled plan had been the worst of it.

––

The quiet after the storm with Young Blood never actually breaks. Minseok is on edge at first, especially after his encounter with Sehun, but nothing drastic happens. Minseok turns in his project, finishes the commission, and ends the month with more money in his bank account and a temporary respite from the stress he’s had piled on his shoulders ever since the semester started. He treats Jongin to barbeque and goes clubbing with Lu Han and Yixing. Minseok feels more relaxed than he’s been in months. 

“ _that kid came into the store today_ ,” Lu Han texts him on a Sunday afternoon. Minseok, preoccupied with the movie he’s watching on his laptop, doesn’t give the text much thought and absentmindedly sends back, “ _what kid?_ ”

“ _your secret lover who stole you away from me_ ,” Lu Han replies. “ _tall, wears snapbacks all the time, has great lips._ ”

Oh. A feeling of dread starts to settle into Minseok’s stomach as he asks, “ _jongin? my junior?_ ”

“ _yeah him_.” The feeling of dread immediately intensifies. 

“ _what did you say to him please tell me you didn’t traumatize him_ ,” Minseok texts back urgently. Lu Han has got his attention now – the movie is all but forgotten.

“ _i only told him the important things_ ,” Lu Han replies, and Minseok’s sure that he’s doing his best “you’ve-wronged-me” pout. “ _ur favorite color, ur favorite food, the size of ur dick._ ”

Minseok groans and puts his head in his hands. The problem with Lu Han is that it’s about a 50/50 toss up between whether he’s teasing or dead serious. 

“ _you don’t know how big my dick is tho_ ,” he sends back, pretending to be unaffected simply because he knows from experience that the second you let Lu Han know he’s gotten to you everything will quickly go downhill.

“ _yeah i do. smaller than mine._ ”

Minseok snorts. “ _that’s a damn lie._ ”

“ _aaaanyway_ ,” Lu Han says, as if Minseok was the one who took the conversation off track to start with. “ _u have good taste. now that i’m paying attention he’s actually totally hot._ ”

Minseok is in the middle of typing out an indignant reply when Lu Han continues, “ _and he’s totally into u._ ”

Minseok stops, gobsmacked, and stares at his phone for a second before hastily replying. “ _what are you talking about? he’s just my junior leave the poor kid alone._ ”

“ _no dude,_ ” Lu Han immediately sends back. “ _once i said i knew u he was totally into the convo and asking me all these questions n stuff. the second he started talking abt u i swear his face started radiating fuckin sunshine._ ”

Minseok blinks dumbly at the message, rereading it over and over. He can picture the expression Lu Han is describing clearly – it’s the look Jongin gets whenever he’s excited or talking about something he’s passionate about. Minseok has seen it many times, whenever Jongin starts talking about art or animation or his dogs. But Minseok can’t imagine that Jongin would have had that look while talking about Minseok. No, Minseok decides, that couldn’t have been it. Jongin was just interested in learning about Minseok because they spend a lot of time together, and he’s a fan of Minseok’s work. There’s nothing more than that; Lu Han must be imagining things.

“ _give it a rest_ ,” Minseok eventually replies after a long pause. “ _it’s not like that._ ”

“ _believe what u want_ ,” is Lu Han’s response. “ _but i’m totally right._ ”

The entire rest of the day Minseok finds himself randomly opening the conversation again. He reads it over until the words seem like they’ll become imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Minseok tells himself that and Jongin are just friends. There’s no way Jongin feels that way about Minseok. _Minseok_ doesn’t feel that way about _Jongin_. That’s not how it is.

––

Do Kyungsoo is about Minseok’s own height, has an adorable face, and is tough as nails. Minseok learns all this within about five minutes of meeting him. Kyungsoo practically radiates no-nonsense efficiency even in his emails, and in real life it’s overwhelming at first. When Minseok arrives at the cafe Kyungsoo had arranged to meet him at to discuss the details of a possible commission piece, Kyungsoo wastes no time getting straight to the point.

“The owner decided that he wants to do a complete overhaul of the interior, but he doesn’t want take care of it himself,” Kyungsoo says. He taps the side of his coffee mug as he speaks, a light staccato against ceramic to express his displeasure. “So he pushes it off onto the poor, already overworked manager – that’s me, by the way – and says that he wants the place to look ‘cool and hip.’ Yes, those were his actual words.”

Minseok nods, silently inviting Kyungsoo to continue because he doesn’t quite dare to interrupt. He likes Kyungsoo, and he thinks they’ll get along well, but he really does not want to get on Kyungsoo’s bad side.

“So I thought it might work to go for a street art kind of look,” Kyungsoo says. His eyes are large and seem like they should further soften his features, but they practically pierce into Minseok. “I asked around a bit, and eventually got directed to miss Kwon Yuri. But she said she doesn’t paint anymore, and directed me to you. And here we are.”

Minseok nods again in acknowledgment. Kyungsoo seems to be done now, so Minseok ventures a question. “What exactly do you have in mind for the art?”

Kyungsoo immediately whips out a tablet and starts flipping through pictures as soon as he sets it on the table where Minseok can see. “The store is a pretty standard shoebox shape, but there are shelves along the longer walls so it would be hard for you to do anything there. I was thinking that maybe you could do something behind the register, where everyone will see it clearly.”

“That sounds good,” Minseok says. He reaches out and taps back to a head-on picture of the register area. It’s not a giant space, but it’s not tiny either. Minseok can definitely work with it. “Do you have any idea of what kind of image you’d like?”

“Maybe something with different genres of music? I don’t know, I’m no artist. That’s why I called you in.” Kyungsoo laughs, and Minseok laughs with him. “But I will say that you don’t have to worry about it being too cliche. In fact, the more cliche it is the happier my boss will probably be.”

Minseok laughs again and passes the tablet back to Kyungsoo. “I’m sure I can figure something out,” he says. “Is there any chance I can go see the store? Then I can take some pictures and hopefully sketching out some ideas for you within the week.”

“Sure,” Kyungsoo replies as he tucks the tablet back into his bag. “It’s pretty close to here, actually, in the part of Hongdae that kind of bleeds over into Sinchon. We can go right now, if you want.”

Minseok agrees and hastily finishes his coffee. When he’s finished the two of them walk over to the store, where Minseok uses his phone to take copious pictures for himself, and leaves with a promise to Kyungsoo that he’ll have a design sketched up within the week.

––

“What are you working on?” Jongin asks, leaning over to Minseok’s side of the table. They’re in the library, per usual. Technically Minseok should be preparing a presentation for the next week, but his laptop is set aside and he’s bent over a sketchbook instead.

“I got another commission,” Minseok says without looking up from his drawing. He adds another swirl, contemplates it, then sighs. There are several pages in his sketchbook preceding this one that he has already scrapped. He’s decently satisfied with this one in comparison, but it still seems lacking.

“Can I see?” Jongin asks. He slides over to Minseok’s side of the table, and Minseok lets him pull the notebook closer. Jongin’s eyebrows draw together in concentration as he stares at the sketch, and Minseok feels an uneasy flutter of apprehension in his stomach. To distract himself, he shoves his phone over to Jongin too.

“It’s for a record store,” Minseok says with a gesture towards the photos on his phone. Jongin’s still got that look he has whenever he’s focusing on a project, and it does nothing to calm Minseok’s sudden nerves. “I have some pictures of the workspace here. The request was for ‘cliche’ and ‘different genres of music’ and I’m totally stumped.” 

Jongin hums and picks up the phone. “I think you’ve got a good start,” he says as he flips through the pictures. “You’ve definitely got the different genres part down.” The center of the sketch features a DJ with a turntable. Behind him stretches out a swirling cloud that contains various instruments, music notes, cartoons of some famous musicians, and items commonly associated with certain types of music. He’s even worked in the fan and _buk_ drum from traditional Korean _pansori_ musical storytelling.

“There’s something missing, though,” Minseok says. “Since the space is more rectangular and this design is more square I was thinking of putting it in the upper left corner to go for an asymmetrical effect, but honestly I’m not really feeling it.”

“What about tying it into the surroundings a bit somehow?” Jongin asks. He leans in closer to Minseok, and Minseok feels warm where their thighs are pressed together. “Over here, on the right side, there are shelves almost all the way back to the back wall,” Jongin continues and Minseok forces himself to focus. “Do you know what genre those are? Maybe you could, like, have some part of your drawing directly connect to that?”

Minseok squints at the screen, trying to remember the store layout. “I think they were rap and hip hop,” he says. He reaches over and enlarges that part of the picture, and sure enough the edge of the shelving unit has a label that says “HIP HOP” in English. 

“How can you directly connect hip hop to what you already have?” Jongin muses. Minseok picks up his pencil and taps it against the sketchbook. When he thinks of “hip hop” the first thing to immediately pop into his mind is a memory from a few weeks before. Minseok had caught Jongin watching dance videos online while they were in the library. Jongin had sheepishly explained that he needed a study break, then invited Minseok to watch with him.

“I used to watch a lot of dance videos, back when I was first teaching myself how to animate,” Jongin had said. “I like hip hop the most, so I would find my favorite dance battles and first try to duplicate them just loosely, freehand, focusing on trying to portray the movement. Then I’d break the videos down frame by frame and look at the more technical things.” Jongin had spent almost an hour showing Minseok all his favorite clips, and even a few of his old animations.

Without really realizing what he’s doing Minseok starts to sketch. Jongin watches curiously as Minseok changes the bottom of his drawing so that it is dripping. Some of the droplets turn into music notes, but one gets larger and turns into a man. Minseok is no Jongin, but he manages to more or less make it look like the guy is breakdancing across the page. At the end he’s standing, one hand shading his eyes, looking up at where the hip hop shelves would be. 

Minseok looks up, and Jongin is staring at him. His eyes are questioning; Minseok grins. “Hey, Jongin,” Minseok says. “How do you feel about working on a commission piece with me?”

\--

Kyungsoo doesn’t mind an extra person working on the piece, as long as the price they had originally settled on doesn’t change. He likes the design, and runs it by his boss, who also approves. Since the store is in use during the day, they work out a schedule where Minseok and Jongin will come in on Friday and Saturdays to work on the wall after hours. Kyungsoo will wait for them, and then set the keypad door lock so they can leave but the door is locked from the outside.

“Technically I should stay to supervise you,” Kyungsoo explains. “But I don’t particularly want to spend hours sitting around doing nothing and breathing in paint fumes. I will, however, tell you that we recently got new security cameras installed and they capture just about every inch of the store.” He smiles, and Minseok feels somewhat terrified for his life. 

The first day Minseok and Jongin work in priming the wall with a neon green basic interior paint. Minseok had even gotten Kyungsoo to grudgingly cop the price after he pointed that the saturated color would help to brighten that entire inside of the store. It’s boring and rather mindless work; seemingly endless masking tape and drop sheet prep followed by literally sitting around watching paint dry. 

Jongin is wearing a sleeveless shirt to work in despite the cool autumn night outside, and Minseok’s eyes keep wandering over to his arms. Jongin isn’t a weightlifter by any means, but his arms are still nicely toned. Jongin catches him staring, once, and Minseok laughs and plays it off like he had just been spacing out. When Jongin laughs along, Minseok heaves a mental sigh of relief.

Ever since his conversation with Lu Han, Minseok feels hyperaware of Jongin. Whenever they’re together he notices every little thing Jongin does, analyzes every detail of their interactions. _Was Jongin always this touchy?_ Minseok wonders as Jongin lands a bright green handprint right on Minseok’s arm. Minseok raises an eyebrow while Jongin proceeds to giggle hysterically. 

“Watch it, punk,” Minseok says. He raises the roller brush in his hand threateningly and Jongin dodges away, still laughing. No, Minseok is sure, Jongin wasn’t always like this. The first time Minseok tried to sling an arm around Jongin’s shoulder while they were walking Jongin had dodged away. Minseok hadn’t thought much of it at the time – he had only done it out of habit, because his friends are particularly touchy. But now Jongin practically hangs off of Minseok whenever they’re together. Is all of that simply because they’ve spent a lot of time together and have a closer friendship now, Minseok wonders. That’s the explanation he would have given before, but now he’s not quite so sure.

The problem is that Lu Han had been right when he suggested that Jongin was Minseok’s type. Jongin is, actually, exactly Minseok’s type. Minseok has been aware of that since the first time he spoke with Jongin and was able to clearly see him. As far as Minseok is concerned, Jongin’s face was probably carved by the gods. He’s got the perfect jawline, the perfect nose, the perfect lips. He’s also tall, and looks really good in those snapback hats he always wears. And, apparently, sleeveless shirts as well. 

Minseok thought he’d been doing a good job of keeping his physical attraction to Jongin separate from their friendship. More correctly, he’s been refusing to acknowledge it out of fear of making things with Jongin weird. Now that he’s started thinking about it, though, Minseok isn’t sure that he’s been doing as good of a job as he’d thought... especially because he has a feeling that somewhere along the way physical attraction may have developed into emotional attraction as well.

“What are you thinking about?” Jongin asks, making Minseok startle and almost drop his paintbrush. “You’ve been kind of spacey today.”

“Nothing,” Minseok says. His mind races for an excuse. “I’m just worried about this piece. I’m still not satisfied with the design.” Well, it’s true at least. It isn’t actually the reason he’s been out of it. Jongin doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Don’t worry,” Jongin replies. “It’s you painting it, so it will be fine.”

“You’re just biased, Mr. ‘I’m your fan,’” Minseok says with a laugh. He puts the roller brush down in the tray and backs up to look at the wall. They’re probably just about done for the night. Minseok turns to look, expecting Jongin to be laughing along sheepishly, but finds Jongin is staring at him seriously. 

“No, that’s not what it is.” Jongin worries his lip between his teeth while he thinks of what to say next. The store seems too quiet even with the playlist from Jongin’s phone playing through the speakers Minseok had brought along. Minseok can hear the blood pounding in his ears. “I mean,” Jongin continues, “it was like that at first. And I still really admire your work. But the reason I believe this will turn out well isn’t because Xiumin is making it, but because I know that Minseok hyung, my friend, will put his everything into this piece. Because I know you, and I know that you won’t settle for giving someone anything other than your best.” 

Minseok feels rooted to the spot, staring at Jongin. “Oh,” he manages to say. He must look pretty dumbfounded, because Jongin laughs.

“Minseok hyung fighting!” Jongin says, complete with a fist pump. 

“Wow, no pressure, huh?” Minseok asks. Then, more quietly, he adds, “Thank you.”

Jongin grins at him. Minseok’s heartbeat thunders even louder.

––

The next day Minseok starts laying down the barest sketch of outlines. Mostly he’s trying to work out spacing and proportions, to make sure that he can fit everything into the space he has to work with. One he’s satisfied he climbs down off his step ladder and starts working on the bottom portion of the piece. It’s little more than a rough sketch, and he’ll polish it up later, but he wants to get the general idea in place so that Jongin will have something to work off of. 

When Minseok finishes filling in the design Jongin moves in to take all sorts of measurements, trying to figure out just how much space he needs to cover and how many stencil “frames” he needs to create. Minseok stands back, out of they way, except when Jongin needs him to help hold an end of the measuring tape. 

Jongin pays attention to even the smallest details, carefully noting down each measurement before moving on to the next. He’s so focused, even though it’s just a relatively small task, and something in Minseok’s stomach flutters as he watches. Jongin’s got his concentration face on, the one he usually reserves for his school projects. The fact that he’s putting that much effort into Minseok’s project – _their_ project – makes Minseok’s chest feel tight with pleasure.

After he finishes his measurements, Jongin technically doesn’t have any reason to hang around, since he can’t paint his part of the piece until he’s finished making his stencils. Jongin doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he pulls his laptop and some paper from his backpack. For the next two hours while Minseok lays down base colors on the wall, Jongin sits near the front of the shop where the door is propped open to help bring in fresh air, reviewing his old dance animations and sketching ideas for stencils.

About an hour later Minseok’s hand starts cramping and he decides to take a break. He ditches his respirator mask and heads to the doorway, where Jongin is hard at work. Jongin doesn’t seem to notice Minseok approaching, but he looks up and pulls his headphones off when Minseok sits down across from him.

“You don’t have to hang around for me, it’s pretty late,” Minseok says as he settles down. The draft coming in through the open door is cold, but it feels refreshing against Minseok’s slightly sweaty skin. Jongin, in contrast, is bundled up in a down jacket. Jongin somehow seems small, huddling in his jacket and bent over his work. Minseok feels guilty for keeping him here, even if Jongin’s only around because of his own sense of loyalty. 

“It’s fine, I’m more of a night owl anyway,” Jongin insists with a slight smile. “Besides, if I’m not here who will guard the door to keep people from coming in and stealing CDs? Wouldn’t want that scary manager to kill you.”

Minseok snorts. “Kyungsoo isn’t that scary,” he says. “And I don’t think he would actually kill me. Probably.”

Jongin gives him a disbelieving look, which makes Minseok laugh again. They lapse into a comfortable silence, and Jongin goes back to his sketch. Minseok turns his face towards the door and closes his eyes, relishing the breeze until he has cooled down enough for goosebumps to form along his arms.

“Don’t your friends mind that you’re doing a commission?” Minseok asks as he opens his eyes. Jongin hand stops moving across the paper, and he looks up at Minseok.

“My friends?” Jongin asks slowly. “You mean Young Blood?” Minseok had actually mostly meant Sehun, but he nods anyway. Jongin gives a half-shrug and returns to his work.

“They don’t really care, I guess,” he says after a second. “I mean, Young Blood isn’t exactly around anymore, so...”

“What?” Minseok exclaims. Things have been quiet lately, but he never really suspected it was because Young Blood had disbanded. “The crew broke up?”

“Not exactly?” Jongin tilts his head to the side and frowns at his sketch. “I mean, they split up into two groups. Like after you found their art, they weren’t secret anymore, and I think that really shook them up. No one really told me about it, but I think they had a pretty big fight. They threw up a new piece, or at least some of them did, and actually signed it. I think they were trying to apologize? Anyway, it was completely buried by everyone they pissed off within a day or two.”

Minseok knows about that at least; he’d heard of it through the group chat. Chanyeol, Hyoyeon, and Jongdae had all gotten in on the action, each leaving their own figurative “fuck you” on the piece. 

Jongin pauses. He lifts his pencil from the paper, and moves to put the end of it in his mouth before catching himself and looking up at Minseok instead. “I don’t know much about the others, but the group Sehun split off into changed their name. They’ve put something up, and signed it, and they aren’t going to go after other artists anymore. Or, at least, that’s what Sehun said.” 

Minseok feels a bit like he’s been blindsided. He tries to reconcile what Jongin just said with his memories of Sehun slashing Minseok’s work, calling Minseok a sell out, trying to wipe Minseok’s art out of existence. “Sehun said that?” 

“Yeah, he was actually one of the ones who started the fight, apparently.” Jongin’s gaze on Minseok is searching, and Minseok briefly wonders what he’s looking for. “It’s funny, because he’s had this huge crush on one of the girls in the crew, and she was really into the tagging, but he apparently went right up to her and said he thought they should stop.”

Minseok feels like his brain is in overdrive trying to process all the new information. As a result he spends a few moments staring wordlessly at Jongin. Finally he says, “I never really expected the group to split. I wanted them to stop what they were doing, sure, but not break up.” Minseok had been looking for revenge, and now that he’s gotten it he feels kind of shitty. The irony of the situation has him letting out a wry laugh. “I kind of feel like I indirectly stole candy from a bunch of kids.”

“No way,” Jongin immediately protests. “We’re not kids, and they all knew exactly what they were doing. They deserved the consequences they had to face.” Jongin leans forward slightly, eyes still locked with Minseok’s. “I think they realize that part, too. You know, just the other day Sehun texted me, and he said that I was right and he shouldn’t have disrespected your work. He made his own choices, and now he’s learning from them. Don’t you dare feel guilty for that.” 

The hand Jongin’s holding his pencil in has closed into a fist, and Minseok wonders if Jongin even knows that he is practically yelling by the time he finishes his short speech. Minseok doesn’t think he has ever even heard Jongin raise his voice before. That he would do so for Minseok’s sake makes Minseok feel– well, he’s not really sure how he feels exactly, but his stomach is trying to do some sort of acrobatics, like it’s halfway between anxiety and anticipation.

“So you don’t have to worry about being a dirty sell out?” Minseok asks with a weak smile. It’s a pathetic attempt at changing the subject away from himself, and he knows it. Jongin must know it too, because he smiles. The tension seems to drain out of him, and he retreats back out of Minseok’s space.

“Nah, I’m good,” Jongin says. “Sehun asked me if I wanted to join the new crew with him, but I said no. Being in a crew was kind of fun, but I really don’t want to get involved in any more drama.”

Minseok nods; he knows the feeling. “Good, I wouldn’t want some kids breaking in here to tag over our piece. For their own sake, mostly. They probably wouldn’t even know what hit them if Kyungsoo ever caught up with them.” 

Minseok and Jongin both fall silent for a second at the thought of the immaculately dressed store manager beating up a bunch of graffiti artist punks. Then Jongin snorts out a laugh, before practically doubling over with laughter. Minseok is pretty sure that what he said wasn’t actually _that_ funny, but somehow he finds himself laughing uncontrollably too. Jongin reaches over to smack Minseok in the arm while he laughs, and Minseok counters by rolling away. Minseok ends up lying on his back on the concrete floor, and Jongin joins him. They laugh until they can barely breathe, and then lie there gasping for breath. 

Jongin sits up first, and when Minseok props himself up on his elbows he finds Jongin staring at him. “I’ll be sure to warn Sehun away from here,” Jongin says solemnly. There are still traces of tears in his eyes from the laughter, but he says it so seriously that Minseok bursts into laughter again. Jongin shortly follows suit, a grin stretching across his face and his nose wrinkling. He’s completely gorgeous, Minseok realizes with a lurch, and suddenly Minseok is breathless for an entirely different reason.

Well, damn.

––

Minseok can’t focus. Normally art is something that helps him clear his head – the more detailed the piece the better – but today even the intricate swirls he’s outlining can’t help him. He’s been on edge all week, particularly whenever he’s around Jongin. Which is often, since they’re still meeting almost every day. Minseok keeps spacing out and catching himself staring at Jongin. More often than not, Jongin catches him staring. Minseok is pretty good at playing it off, but he realizes that there’s a limit to how many times he can claim coincidence.

Jongin hasn’t mentioned it outside of gently teasing Minseok for the way he keeps spacing out, but Minseok can tell that he’s curious. Jongin is waiting for Minseok to talk first, but Minseok doesn’t know how to bring the topic up without making things awkward between them. How exactly does one explain to their friend that they not only find them attractive but have apparently been suppressing a full on crush on them? Since Lu Han got Minseok thinking, Minseok hasn’t been able to _stop_ thinking. And the more he mulls it over, the more Minseok realizes that he really does like Jongin. He had just hidden it so thoroughly under layers of denial that he needed some help realizing it.

It’s not just the way Jongin is so meticulous with his work, putting his all into even the smallest tasks. It’s also Jongin’s love for art, and the way he comes alive whenever he talks about it – or anything he’s passionate about, for that matter. It’s the comfortable silences at the table while they study, the small text messages of encouragement, the way Jongin’s nose crinkles when he laughs. It’s the way Jongin bites his lip when he’s thinking...

Minseok curses loudly when the line he’s trying to draw comes out wobbly instead of smooth. He leans backwards to survey the line from another angle, to see if it might look okay from a distance. Nope, definitely wobbly. Heaving a sigh, Minseok leans back in to trace over the line again and stabilize it. He can feel Jongin’s eyes on his back while he works, and it makes him jittery in a way that is not helping his attempts to smooth over his mistake. 

It’s the first day of their second week working on the piece, and Jongin had finished his part of it within what seemed like minutes. That’s the benefit, Minseok supposes, of working with stencils. After you do your hours of drudgework at home, the actual painting takes minimal effort to throw up. Jongin had taken up his post by the door again after he finished, staying to work on homework regardless of Minseok’s urges to go home. 

Minseok fixes the line and moves to start on another. Or at least that is his plan, until somehow he overbalances on the stepladder and just barely manages to save himself from doing a face plant into the floor. Jongin is at his side in an instant. He helps Minseok disentangle himself from the ladder and then watches as Minseok pulls off his mask to call the ladder, and his own clumsy feet, some choice words.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Jongin suggests after Minseok has calmed down a bit. “It’s almost three in the morning. If nothing else you should probably have an energy drink or something.”

“Coffee,” Minseok says plaintively as he allows himself to be led towards the door. He sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

Jongin laughs and wraps an arm around Minseok’s shoulders. When they reach the door Jongin fishes an energy drink and a canned coffee out of his backpack, and then they head outside. “For some fresh air,” Jongin says as he carefully puts a textbook in the entryway to keep the door from closing and locking them out.

Minseok settles down on the front step and leans back against the doorjamb as he pops open his coffee. It’s the same brand Jongin had left on Minseok’s table well over two months before, he notices. Minseok takes a sip and closes his eyes. There’s no one about on the street the shop is on, but Minseok can hear people out on the main street it connects to. Seoul never sleeps, after all, especially not on weekends.

“You’ve been really out of it lately,” Jongin says hesitantly after a minute. “Is something wrong?”

Minseok’s eyes open and slide over to Jongin. The energy drink is still unopened in Jongin’s hands, and he’s staring at it rather than looking at Minseok. Jongin looks so concerned that Minseok immediately feels bad for making him worry. 

“I’m that obvious, huh?” Minseok asks, forcing a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

There’s an unspoken question hovering in the air, an invitation to discussion. It would be the perfect opportunity for Minseok to explain, to bring up everything he’s been obsessively thinking about since his conversation with Lu Han. 

But Minseok is scared. He tries to force himself to talk, but the words all stick in his throat. He’s scared that he’s wrong, that he’s been misinterpreting Jongin’s actions, that he’s been reading too much into things. That Lu Han was wrong, and that Jongin really does just think of Minseok as a friend, a hyung he admires. Minseok is scared, so he takes the coward’s way out.

“What do you think of me?” Minseok asks. Jongin looks up now, surprised by the change in topic.

“What do I think about you?” he repeats, mostly to himself. Jongin pauses and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth while he thinks. Eventually, after a silence that feels almost suffocating, he says, “I think that you’re a great guy and a wonderful artist. Your work is breathtaking, honestly.”

Minseok can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips – it still feels good to hear Jongin compliment his work – but he shakes his head slightly. “No, what do you think about _me_ , not my art.”

Jongin blinks at Minseok, like he’s been caught off-guard. He takes even longer to answer this time and keeps his eyes on the ground when he finally speaks. “I think that you’re… different,” he says tentatively. “I mean, not in a bad way? Just, the circumstances we met under kind of sucked, and you could have hated me, but...” Jongin trails off and makes a vague gesture at their current spot on the doorstep. “Here we are.” 

Jongin takes a shaky breath, like he’s steeling himself for something, then lifts his head and looks Minseok straight in the eye. “And,” he repeats, “I think you’re really hot.”

Minseok feels like he’s been frozen in time. He would think that maybe he heard Jongin wrong, except he’s certain he didn’t. Minseok half expects Jongin to take it back and say he was just joking – except he doesn’t. Jongin holds Minseok’s gaze steadily, even as he clasps his hands around his drink to keep them from shaking. Jongin is serious, and Minseok knows that he should say something, but his brain can’t seem to work fast enough. The silence seems to stretch on forever while Minseok scrambles for words.

“I–” Minseok starts, then stops. He swallows. It would be best to say something meaningful, Minseok knows, but instead what comes out when he opens his mouth again is, “I think you’re really hot too?”

Even if it’s not what he intended to say, the effect is immediate. Relief washes over Jongin’s face – Minseok realizes with a start that Jongin had probably been terrified – and then he breaks down into laughter. Minseok blinks, and blinks again, as Jongin doubles over.

“Your face,” Jongin gasps. “Oh my God.” He manages to pull himself upright, practically wheezing from laughter. “I was so _scared_ ,” Jongin says. “I mean, I was pretty sure I’d been reading you correctly, but what if I hadn’t, you know? But then, your face–” Jongin breaks into giggles again, and Minseok reaches over to punch him indignantly.

“I take it back,” Minseok says with as much dignity as he can manage. “You’re not hot, you’re a brat.”

Jongin doesn’t reply, just grabs Minseok’s hand Minseok used to hit him and laces their fingers together. It’s chilly outside and Jongin’s fingers are cold in Minseok’s own, but Minseok is filled with warmth. The shock has worn off now and Minseok feels every bit as relieved as Jongin had looked. It’s like some kind of floodgates inside of him have opened, and a giddy feeling bubbles through Minseok until he’s laughing along with Jongin. Jongin leans in until their shoulders are touching, linked hands between them. They stay that way, even after their laughter lulls, until the cold sets in and Jongin shivers.

“Let’s go back inside,” Minseok suggests as Jongin huddles closer to Minseok’s side. “I just have a little more I want to finish up, and then we can head out.” Jongin nods and they haul themselves upright, grab their forgotten drinks, and head back into the store. Jongin settles back down with his homework while Minseok walks back to the painting. 

Finding himself face-to-face with the piece once more, Minseok’s previous elation starts to fade. He’s still unhappy with the design, and none of the small changes he’s made have seemed to help it. Minseok sighs, picking up the can he’d been using before Jongin pulled him outside. Before climbing back onto the ladder Minseok glances back over his shoulder, and finds Jongin watching him. Jongin smiles, almost shyly, when their eyes meet. Minseok grins back. He might not be able to fix this painting, Minseok acquiesces as he steps onto the ladder. But this thing he’s got with Jongin? Minseok is pretty sure that’s something they can make work.

–– 

It’s close to 4 a.m. when they finally move the drop sheets and stepladder out of the way and leave with Minseok’s bag of spray paint cans slung over his shoulder. Jongin checks his phone as they walk towards Sinchon station, then swears under his breath when he pulls up the bus times.

“Night buses already stopped running,” Jongin explains when Minseok gives him a curious look. “I was hoping that they ran later, damn. I guess I’ll just wait around for the subway to start running.”

Minseok stares at Jongin in shock. “But that won’t be for at least another hour,” he says with disbelief. Jongin nods glumly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He seems resigned to waiting with all the stranded revelers who had missed the last train home the night before. Maybe Minseok is spoiled by having an apartment nearby, but the thought of having to wait around like that appalls him. “Do you want to come over to my place?” he blurts out. Jongin’s eyes are immediately on him, wider than Minseok thinks he’s ever seen them before.

“That’s not what I meant,” Minseok says with a laugh when he realizes why Jongin looks so startled. “Not like– I mean we can just stop by the convenience store and get some snacks and watch a movie or something until the subways are running, or you can just crash there and save yourself the trip altogether? If you want.”

Jongin hesitates, then nods. “That would actually be great,” he says with a relieved grin.

There are convenience stores on almost every corner, but they end up stopping by the one just across the street from Minseok’s apartment complex. They pick up a package of cookies, coffee milk, and a bag of chips, and then they make their way over to Minseok’s building and head up the three flights of stairs to his room. 

Minseok’s one room apartment is pretty small, as is his bed, but somehow Minseok and Jongin both manage to fit onto the mattress and set up Minseok’s laptop at the end. Minseok puts on some superhero movie Chanyeol let him borrow and then flops down along the length of the bed on his stomach. Jongin squeezes in so that he can tuck up his legs and lean back against the wall. 

By the time they get situated and start the movie it’s pushing 4:30 a.m. and Minseok’s eyelids feel heavy. The caffeine from coffee he had earlier wore off ages ago. He makes it through about twenty minutes of the movie before he feels himself starting to nod off.

“Falling asleep already?” Jongin jokes. He pokes Minseok in the side, and Minseok groans.

“Unlike _someone_ I didn’t spend my night ingesting energy drinks,” Minseok mumbles into the pillow he has propped up under his arms. 

“Or maybe _someone_ is just old,” Jongin says, poking Minseok again.

“Hey, watch it punk,” Minseok says. He reaches one arm out behind himself and blindly punches in Jongin’s general direction. Jongin laughs and catches hold of Minseok’s arm. A small scuffle ensues that soon turns into a full scale tug of war that ends with Minseok flipping over onto his back and accidentally pulling Jongin halfway on top of him. When Minseok looks up he finds Jongin hovering over him, hands braced on either side of Minseok’s head. Anything Minseok might have been planning to say dies on his lips, and the movie fades into background noise. Minseok doesn’t think he could pull his eyes away from Jongin’s even if he wanted to try.

“I meant it when I said I think you’re really hot,” Jongin suddenly says. He’s staring down at Minseok, so completely serious that Minseok can’t help but smile.

“I’m gonna be honest,” Minseok says with a breathless laugh, “that was the exact last thing I was expecting you to say.”

Jongin immediately flushes and pulls back until he’s sitting upright again. Minseok immediately worries that he’s said something wrong. He’s about to apologize when Jongin says, “Lu Han told me I should say it.”

“ _What?_ ” Minseok exclaims. He bolts upright, lifting himself up on one elbow so that he can gape at Jongin. Once the immediate surprise wears off, though, he sinks back down onto the bed with a groan. Because _of course_ Lu Han would be involved somehow. Of course.

“I mean,” Jongin quickly cuts in, “I always thought that? I never really considered telling you, though. But then when I was talking to Lu Han, after he totally unsubtly tried to make sure I was gay, he basically told me that you liked me but would never make the first move.” Jongin is still blushing, and Minseok is sure his face is the same color. However, more than being embarrassed, Minseok is mostly ashamed because Lu Han had been absolutely correct about him. 

“He told me to make the first move, and I thought he was playing a joke on me.” Jongin’s voice is quiet now. Minseok’s heart clenches. He knows what that feels like, to worry that you might get your hopes up just to find out that you’re the butt of someone else’s joke. Minseok knows that Lu Han would never do that, but there was no way Jongin could have known.

“He was just being a nosy asshole,” Minseok says. “Sorry about that.” 

Jongin shrugs, then smiles. “Turns out that he gave me good advice, though.”

Minseok snorts. “True,” he admits grudgingly. Jongin laughs, and he’s so gorgeous and so _close_ and Minseok’s heart is racing in his chest. “Let’s stop talking about Lu Han now,” Minseok says, then reaches up and pulls Jongin down.

Jongin lets out a surprised _oof_ when he lands on Minseok, but eagerly responds when Minseok kisses him. Jongin shifts to brace his arms against the bed, in order to both take some weight off of Minseok and to adjust the angle of the kiss. He parts his lips against Minseok’s, and Minseok reaches up so that he can wrap one arm around Jongin’s shoulders, burying his other hand in Jongin’s hair. Jongin’s response is immediate, a low moan that catches in his throat. Pleased, Minseok tugs lightly in order to bring Jongin, if possible, even closer.

They kiss open-mouthed and languid, almost lazy. Somewhere behind them on the movie buildings explode and sirens blare, but neither of them hear it. Jongin runs his teeth lightly over Minseok’s bottom lip, and Minseok shivers as they pull apart. Minseok opens his eyes Jongin is right there above him, looking back. Jongin’s lips are red and slick, and his hair is messy from Minseok’s fingers. Seeing Jongin up close, like this, Minseok feels almost overwhelmed. 

“If this is the way all your visits are going to go, you’re welcome to come over anytime,” Minseok says breathlessly. Jongin smiles and leans in for another kiss.

––

Minseok hates the piece in the record shop.

“Only your part of it came out well,” he whines to Jongin when they stop by the store. It’s been a week since they finished the piece, and Minseok had insisted on coming by on their way back to Minseok’s apartment from meeting Lu Han in Hongdae, so that he could see if a bit of time and separation had changed his opinion about his work. 

It hadn’t.

“I still think it looks good,” Jongin replies. He wraps a casual arm around Minseok’s shoulder, and Minseok leans into the touch.

“Biased,” Minseok accuses, even as he fights back a smile. Around them several customers browse the rows of CD and record cases. It’s surprisingly lively, enough that Kyungsoo, who had greeted them when they came in, is being kept busy. At least Kyungsoo, as well as his boss, liked the piece. Technically that’s all that really matters even though, as the artist, Minseok finds that hard to accept.

“Absolutely,” Jongin agrees shamelessly. “The most biased.” He’s got a goofy grin on that makes Minseok laughs and elbow him lightly. Minseok is pleased, though, and he knows that Jongin can tell. 

“Come on,” Minseok says after another minute of scrutiny, and slides out from under Jongin’s arm. “Let’s get out of here. I might puke if I have to look at this any longer.”

Jongin snorts a laugh and follows Minseok towards the entrance. They wave goodbye to Kyungsoo before heading out onto the street and starting off again in the Sinchon direction. They could have easily caught a bus back from Hongdae to start with, but Minseok prefers to walk whenever possible. This has been a point of contention with many of his friends over the years, but Jongin doesn’t seem to mind.

Once they reach a main road Jongin places a hand lightly on Minseok’s arm. “It really does look good,” Jongin says softly. When Minseok turns to look at him Jongin isn’t smiling or laughing, just serious in the way he gets whenever he’s worried about something. “It may not be your favorite, but that doesn’t make it bad. Besides,” now he does smile, a small, shy smile reminiscent of the very first time they had talked, “we can do better next time.”

Next time. Warmth floods through Minseok and he stops walking so abruptly that Jongin almost trips trying to stop with him. Jongin throws Minseok a curious look, inquiring. Minseok isn’t sure how to explain the emotions making him feel lightheaded with happiness, so he settles for saying, “Sure.” Jongin lights up in that way he does, so that he’s practically shining, and Minseok feels much the same. He’s smiling so hard it hurts. “That sounds great.”

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Willow, as always, for saving my butt and making this not suck ♡ 
> 
> Admittedly street art in Korea is not my area of expertise; despite my research I still feel that this is in many ways lacking. However, if anyone has any questions, please leave them in the comments and I will do my best to answer/discuss them with you!


End file.
